Entrusted
by bekkett3021
Summary: What if John Preston had an older daughter? R&R please.
1. A New Day

Entrusted  
  
An Equilibrium Fanfic  
  
By Exmouth  
  
Summary: What if John Preston had an older daughter? On whom he connects with deeper than his other children? One whom he can entrust with his newly- acquired feelings, to help him in his quest to rid the world of a lifeless society?  
  
Chapter One- A New Day  
  
John awoke naturally that morning, with the blurred morning light warming his clean face. He rolled over onto his back, stretched his arms in front of him, and exhaled deeply.  
  
Another day. Worthless. Wasted. Fighting for a change, a change of which we can never truly fulfill. What will happen once we have nothing left to burn? Will all of the clerics still be here? Will they become weak? Will people find a way to defeat us? I don't know.  
  
John closed his eyes, and ran his hands over his face. He got up off of his mattress, padded to the bathroom, and looked in the mirror.  
  
What am I? I'm a life, but lives aren't meant to live this way. Not with boundaries and certainly not without any way of knowing what lies ahead of us.  
  
John took an interval from his supply, and put it behind the mirror, where a large pile, almost a hundred intervals, lay unused. He smiled smugly, and replaced the mirror.  
  
He took a shower, dressed in his Cleric uniform, and went into the galley, where his children were already awake, clean, dressed, and eating their breakfast.  
  
"Good Morning, John.", said all three of them in unison.  
  
"Good Morning."  
  
Cassandra Preston, his oldest daughter, sat next to him at the small table. Her intense blue eyes flicked to his face, then his throat.  
  
"John, you have missed a button at your collar".  
  
"Oh.. thank you."  
  
Lisa handed him a copy of the days newspaper, which never had anything new printed in its pages. It was always the same thing: No fighting, no wars, no hate, no feelings, and always, a list of the latest-executed and what they possessed illegally. Cassandra took a rather loud bite of her fiber cereal, not really wanting to eat it, but people now had to eat to live, so she consumed the tasteless sustenance.  
  
They ate and drank in silence, listening to the clock pass the minute before the children had to catch the shuttle to the monastery. John looked around the table at his offspring. All of them were attractive: Pale, flawless skin, perfectly manicure nails and hair, and immaculately fit to their age requirements. Cassandra, in her early teens, was already a Class- Four student, in the Cleric monastery, and very quickly working her way to number One, where she would be a Cleric. Cassandra took after her father when it came to her study habits, learning fast, working hard, and taking her skills seriously.  
  
She looks like her mother.  
  
John came out of his daydream, and took a drink of his water. There was a buzz at he door, and the children rose from their seats and collected their work. But Cassandra held back. After the others had cleared the house, she stood close to John and put her hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Goodbye John."  
  
He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed when she removed her hand. Cassandra left then, and as John remained sitting all alone in the emptiness of the small apartment, he thought hard and long about what had happened to him.  
  
Why did she touch me. . .  
  
John had never in life been touched like that. It felt. . . he couldn't describe it. It was. . . just. . . full of love. 


	2. Sparring

Entrusted  
  
Chapter Two- Sparring  
  
John stood on one of the balconies of the Monastery, watching his daughter practice combat training. Each move , each placement was graceful and beautiful in its own way, how smooth and how each muscle flowed into one another whenever she moved was equally as captivating, even though they were mathematically strategized to inflict the most damage and the most pain possible. Cassandra, who had been in the Monastery since she was five years old, knew each assault like it was as normal as breathing. It was like ballet, how she could kick and spin and punch out at the air like it was breath. John was reminded of himself, a young fledgling Cleric, practicing all hours of the day, going over each step and each turn an infinite number of times. Cassandra now stood in the middle of the floor, pin-straight and stock-still, meditating in silence, whispering incoherently. John made his way down to the floor, grinning like a jackal.  
  
My daughter. How beautiful she is. How proud am I.  
  
John stood parallel to her.  
  
"Cassandra."  
  
She lifted her head at he sound of his voice, and turned around slowly. When she viewed his face, something flickered behind her eyes and her tone of voice changed.  
  
"Yes, John?"  
  
"I want you to fight me."  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
"I was watching you up there. You look like you have been practicing, I want to test you."  
  
"Alright, then. Weapons?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Alright."  
  
So they fought, faster than what the naked eye could see, whenever Cassandra hit John, he would falter but bounce back quickly, and whenever John hit Cassandra, she would in turn bounce back quicker. It was miraculous to watch, how they grunted and growled at each other, like wild animals fighting over a fresh kill. It finally stopped when John, who was adamant about beating her, misplaced a punch and sliced open her left brow with the force of his fist. She fell to the ground, sniffling and squealing.  
  
"Cassandra?"  
  
She turned away from him, even though he offered a hand in helping her up.  
  
"Cassandra, I'm sorry."  
  
She looked at him then, with wide, glittering eyes, an open mouth of amazement to match.  
  
"What did you just say?"  
  
John faltered in his words, but said them again.  
  
"I'm sorry, for, um, hitting you."  
  
Cassandra smiled, and stood on her own. She put a hand to her brow as small tears quenched from her eyes. John reached up and ran his thumb over her check, to brush the tear away. Cassandra smiled faintly, and then is returned harshly to reality.  
  
"I-I have to go , John."  
  
And with that she left him alone on the floor, his breathing echoing from the marble walls and back to him. 


	3. Listening

Entrusted  
  
Chapter Three- Listening  
  
When John returned home that night, his two youngest children sat in front of the television screen, which only provided Father's teachings on how important it is that humans be senseless, to obliterate hatred towards others and to never smile, under penalty of death. He walked to them, and watched as their eyes were wide open, staring mercifully at the screen, taking in every word that Father said, be it wrong or not.  
  
"Good Evening, children."  
  
"Good Evening, John.", both of them said in unison.  
  
He turned towards the main hallway, where he passed Cassandra's door. He pressed his ear to the door, where to his surprise, he heard . . . noises. They were unlike anything he had ever heard before. They were small and faint at first, but then grew louder. What was it? John felt wrong in his way ,and a large cramp formed in the pit of his stomach. He heard Cassandra breathing, hard, like she had been running. His confusion gnawed at him, and he pressed his head harder against the door.  
  
Voices, muffled, whimpering, laughter, skin against skin, rustling, laughter again, more whimpers, what is this? A deep, male voice moans, a tearful cry, laughter, the smack of a kiss, more laughter.  
  
John still felt wrong, but he had encountered these sounds before. He put his hands up on the door and pressed his forehead against it. He closed his eyes and envisioned when he himself had had this encounter before.  
  
The feel of her skin, her lips on mine, her hands on my back, sweating, heart beating fast.  
  
The noises continued on for another twenty minutes, before the encounter came to a noisy halt, first with his, whomever he was, exertion of passion, then hers. John then heard the creak of bedsprings, more muffled voices, the opening and closing of a door. She then began to walk to the door, the soft padding sound of her bare feet against the floor woke John up from his dramatic daydream. He made himself to leave, but he did not clear the door in time to make it appear as though he was just passing by.  
  
John looked her over, from head to toe, seeing that her skin had a pink flush, and a fresh gleam of sweat shone brightly on her face and her body. The wound on her eyebrow was clean and taped: it now looked like a small sliver of moon on her face.  
  
Cassandra's face had a flash of worry and despair at the same time.  
  
"How long have you stood there?"  
  
"I-I haven't, at all."  
  
She looked skeptical for a moment., but her face became unreadable. Cassandra brushed past him, and walked down the long hallway to the bathroom.  
  
"Cassandra."  
  
"I don't want to speak of it."  
  
She shut the door to the bathroom, and John heard the rush of water a few moments later. 


	4. Distraction

Entrusted Chapter Four- Distraction  
  
John lie awake on his mattress, confused and bewildered. He didn't know what to make of this strange occasion the had happened between his daughter and himself. He stared at the ceiling, reminiscing of the yers past when Cassandra was a child, an infant even, when John had held her tiny body in has arms, when he rocked her to sleep, watched his wife Vivian smile whenever the baby cooed or laughed. He can even remember himself how he laughed when she squirmed like a caterpillar when he gave her a bath. Now, it seems, she was an adult in her short years of adolescence. John rolled over onto his side and kept on remembering of Cassandra's younger years, when he heard a soft whisper.  
  
"John?"  
  
He turned over quickly, and to his surprise, saw the dark outline of Cassandra at his doorway.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Can I talk to you?"  
  
"About what?", John replied, trying to keep up his stiff exterior.  
  
"This afternoon."  
  
"Sure." John sat up on his mattress.  
  
Cassandra walked over to the empty mattress next to him and sat down with one leg tucked under her.  
  
"I. . . I cannot accurately depict what happened without telling you this. I. . . have been." Her voice trailed off.  
  
"What is it?" John's voice held a small amount of sympathy.  
  
"I have been refusing my interval for the past few years." Cassandra burst into tears, and began to quietly sob to herself. The words stung at John not hurtfully, but with relief.  
  
" I know that you will kill me for this, John, so I have already made prepartations and am at your mercy. You can do what you must."  
  
"You've. . . been feeling?"  
  
"Yes. I have no remorse, but then again I feel as though I have failed you and theat I have btrayed you as well."  
  
John sat motionless. He was speechless, and at the same time, there was so much he wanted to tell her. He got up from the mattress, and put on a t- shirt. Cassandra followed him around the room with her eyes.  
  
"What are you doing?", asked Cassandra, her voice fragile and cracking. John did not reply. John grabbed her by the wrist and led her out of the house. She did not fight, it was no use. She was headed to her doom. A doom brought upon herself. Her doom carried out by the only person she truly cared for. Her father. 


	5. Into the Nether

Entrusted Chapter 5  
  
The plain white car zoomed silently through the empty midnight streets, passing cement buildings and cement sidewalks. Cassandra stared out the window, still half-sobbing, but now at peace with the idea that she was about to be exterminated. John steered the car silently through the night, his breath even and shallow. Suddenly, John pulled the car over and came to a stop.  
  
"Get out of the car."  
  
Cassandra did as she was told, and got out of the car. John walked around to the back and opened the trunk.  
  
"Get in."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Just get in."  
  
Again, Cassandra did as she was told, and she got into the trunk. For the remainder of the time that she felt the car move, she made not a sound, but she heard two voices: One of her father, the other of a man she didn't know. Then, they were moving again, until the car stopped completely, and John opened the trunk.  
  
"You can get out now."  
  
Cassandra climbed out of the trunk, and they were somewhere that she was completely unaware of.  
  
"Where are we?"  
  
"Were in the Nether. I want to show you something."  
  
"Are we allowed here?"  
  
"I'm a Tetragrammaton Cleric. There's nothing I cant do."  
  
John led the way thru the piles of ruined metal and stone, thru unfamiliar corridors, and to a steel door that was locked with a large metal bolt.  
  
"John, do you know your way back from here?"  
  
"Yes, I come here often."  
  
John opened the door, and the room inside was completely dark. He shut the door behind him, and locked it. He then flicked on a light, and to Cassandra's elation, there were piles upon piles of sense-offense items. Music, films, artwork, everything and anything that could evoke some sort of emotion in a mans heart. All of it was there, anything you could ever dream of.  
  
"John, what is this?"  
  
"It is a Safehouse, a place where the Clerics keep sense-offense that was missed."  
  
"Don't they know if this is missing?"  
  
"I suppose, but there is so much sense offense that comes in everyday at the Tetragrammaton that we get accustomed to missing things. Its our one fatal flaw, if I may say so."  
  
Cassandra looked around the room again, in utter disbelief and amazement.  
  
"John, why did you bring me here?", asked Cassandra.  
  
"I want you to tell me what all of this is.", replied John. 


	6. Rubbish

Entrusted Chapter 6- Rubbish  
  
Cassandra and John spent the night in that pit of madness, of forbidden goods, of the past remnants of a once prosperous culture. Digging thru piles of books, of music, films, artwork, whatever there was that once evoked any sort of feeling. Cassandra held each piece of artifact like it was fine bone china. She used a light grasp and a feather-like touch to turn pages of books, read small passages aloud, and read more to herself. John, like a small child, hung on to every word, wanting more, what happened next. Of course, he was skeptical as to how she knew everything that she did know, but it didn't matter to him at that moment. All he cared about was this integral time and space with Cassandra. She was like a timekeeper, going back and forth thru the ages to give brief histories and biographies, the main messages of movies and of artwork. Her face, clenched in both concentration and of contempt, sadness, and joyous ecstasy, nearly brought John to tears at times of integral conflict in the novel Les Miserables, but when she stopped reading and hand the novel to John, he was left unaware. He didn't know how to comprehend these things. It was all too new to him. He was like an infant in the waking world. He read anyway: his hunger ate at him until he had no choice.  
  
Cassandra walked to an isolated corner in the room. She kneeled to the floor. They were albums, hundreds of them, piled on the floor is neat stacks. She read every one: Mozart, Billie Holiday, Metallica, The Temptations, Duran Duran, Incubus, and many others that seemed unfamiliar, strange, and foreign to her. But one, Beethoven, struck a cord to her. She took it in her hand, and placed it in the record player. John, who was in another section of the room, reading aloud softly, was content in his own aura. Cassandra put the needle to the vinyl, and small notes, quiet, and obscure began to flow thru the room.  
  
"Shh.", Cassandra hushed John.  
  
He looked up, not hearing the music.  
  
"What is...", he was cut off, the music was now clearly audible. He sat with a dazed look in his eyes, his clean face washed of any emotion. He listened silently, his head cocked to one side, taking in every bar of notes, every chord, every possible sound that was coming from the machine. He closed his eyes, sat back into his chair, and began to cry silently to himself. This beauty, this unknown realm of pleasure and pain, cobwebbed and covered in the dust of Preston's mind, came into focus and consumed every inch of him. Overcome with this new way of life, his put his heads in his hands, and sobbed silently to himself, both happy, and angered that the world, and him, would help to destroy this part of life, how we could do away with this outlet of both guilt and redemption, hatred and love, of chivalry and cowardice.  
  
Cassandra walked over to John, and held his head in her hands. His hazel eyes were wet with tears, his face the same. He fell into her arms, and they both listened to the concerto in silence. They eventually fell asleep in that room, in the middle of nowhere, alone, but with all the love in the world they would ever obtain. 


	7. Interrupted

Entrusted Chapter 7 – Interrupted  
  
John and Cassandra slept quietly that night, huddled together in the cold of the Safehouse. The Beethoven record was on repeat, the needle passed over the same constant but flowing notes of the concerto. Books lay opened all over the floor, and various vinyl records lay naked from their sleeves and were strewn on the floor as well.  
  
A strange sound awoke John first. He didn't know what it was . It sounded so peaceful. So free. He stood up and followed his ear to where the sound originated. It came from outside of the Safehouse. He turned back from the door, and he checked on Cassandra. Still deep in sleep, dreaming of a color-filled, romanticly free world. He draped his coat over her shoulders, and left the Safehouse. He shut the door quietly behind him, an he listened intently for the sound again. It came to him in soft waves thru the distorted metal and stone of the Nether, but it was so clear and crisp, that he knew where it was exactly. Thru the long hallways and up several staircases, and he was at the surface again.  
  
Then they are there. Several white unmarked cars pulled up in front of John. Dust flew out from behind their wheels as the drivers applied the brakes.  
  
Clerics.  
  
This is the only time in John's life where he felt like he might have hated them.  
  
A squad of them where already investigating John's car, where they found nothing. Another group got out of one of the white cars, and approached John.  
  
"Are you John Preston, Tetragrammaton Cleric, Class One?"  
  
"I am."  
  
"You're under arrest for the endangerment of your children, violation of Libria Codes 4167-879, and of Sense-Offense"  
  
John immediately fled the other Clerics. His immense training and his skill made this an easy task. He made his way to the Safehouse, where Cassandra was already awake, and reading a book.  
  
"Cassandra, we need to get out of here. Now"  
  
"Why?", she said, upset and worried.  
  
"We have to get away."  
  
John pulled her up by her elbows and grabbed the book out of her hands. He threw it behind him and pulled her out of the room. Echoes from the other Clerics came down the hallway, and John tugged Cassandra down a hallway leading in the other direction.  
  
They mazed their way thru the halls, confusing the Clerics of the location, until they reached the surface. John and Cassandra tiptoed and whispered as to not alert the other Clerics. They found one of the cars unlocked and they climbed in. John started the engine, and as the Clerics turned their heads to see what was happening, John and Cassandra were already a few miles away.  
  
Where they were going, they didn't know. But all they knew is that they had to get away. 


End file.
